Sheltered
by Podkopayeva
Summary: Payson is tired of being told that leaving was Sasha's decision to make, and that she'd just have to accept it. No, not this time. This time, she's going to fight, and he's going to listen to her, even if she has to cross continents to do it.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: *waves* Hello! I'm new to the MIOBI fanfic community, but I adore the show, and especially the dynamic and chemistry between Payson and Sasha. That said, I'm massively disappointed by the writing in general this season, and I wrote this after _The New Normal_ because I felt like they took the easy way out simply so the Payson/Sasha drama would die a quicker, cleaner death. Long-term story arcs and character development don't seem to be the show's forte, but hey... that's why we've got fic, right? But enough griping about lost potential. In my fic world, **this** is how that episode ends.

Hope you all enjoy!

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><p>Payson sat in the darkened car, hands spasmodically clutching the wheel without much notice from her. It felt like she'd been sitting there for hours, but she knew it was just the adrenaline of feeling like she was doing something wrong. She hadn't stolen the car- Max had insisted, and Austin had agreed with a sweet -if too knowing- smile. "Go ahead, Payson. I don't mind if you borrow it for a little while. I'm sure we can find something to distract us anyway." Austin handed her the keys and made a little shooing motion. "We'll call you if we're ready before you are."<p>

So Payson had shoved down her conscience and her nerves and jumped in the car, tailing her mother to a slightly gritty section of Denver. Parking in the back of a weed-choked lot, her mom had consulted a piece of paper before heading through a gleaming set of glass doors, a smart sign saying 'Stu's Corner Boxing Gym' emblazoned on it. What on earth was her mother doing here?

But she knew deep down exactly what Kim Keeler was here for. Her. She'd lost her cool and snapped at her mom when it really hadn't been her fault at all. She wasn't mad at her- she was mad at Sasha and, more than anything, herself. She'd trusted him completely, believing without question that he'd always put her needs first. Well, the team's needs. And so Payson sat in her darkened borrowed car on a side street with a good view of the entrance to Stu's Gym and waited.

It wasn't more than an interminable-feeling ten minutes before her mom walked back out, shoulders slumped and face disappointed. Payson felt her heart plummet. If anyone could have talked Sasha into coming back, it was her mom. She sat and watched her mother reach her car, turn and pause a moment, eyes locked on the glass doors of the gym, before heaving a sigh and getting in. Within a minute, she was gone.

Closing her eyes and resting her forehead on the steering wheel, Payson counted slowly to one hundred, and then counted all the way back down to one. It was an exercise she'd performed hundreds, maybe thousands, of times before, a calming technique that let her grab hold of her nerves and turn them into steely determination. Cutting the engine and pocketing the keys, Payson made her way doggedly towards the little gym.

She had just swung through the entrance and processed that it wasn't nearly as dingy as she'd anticipated when Sasha was suddenly in front of her, bag in hand, towel around his neck, and looking as shocked as she felt. "Payson?" he asked in disbelief. "What are you-" He cut himself off with a brusque slashing motion of his hand. "I told your mother the truth, and I won't change my mind, Payson." His eyes gentled. "I'm sorry. Now please go back outside, get in the car with her, and go home."

Blinking slowly, feeling like maybe she'd missed something important, Payson frowned at him and blurted out, "I've heard of beating yourself up, Sasha, but this is something else." She squinted in the gloomy half light of a flickering halogen bulb. "Is that a black eye?"

He rubbed his face sheepishly, and she noticed the swollen, bruised knuckles. Apparently this wasn't his first boxing workout since World Team Trials. She took a tentative step closer. And the nose was definitely more crooked than she remembered, and that split lip must have been throbbing. "Why not just go get mugged?"

Sasha grimaced. "It looks rather worse than it is, Payson. I took a decent cross to the face earlier when I was... distracted." The hand came up again to rub unconsciously at his stubbled jaw. His eyes hardened. "Go home, Payson. I mean it."

"No." The simple response was out of her mouth even before she was aware of it, and their eyes widened at the same time. "No, Sasha. If you're not my coach anymore, and you're sure as hell not my friend, then you don't get to give me orders anymore."

Eyes grim, mouth flattened in displeasure, he made to step around her. "Very well. Then perhaps you'll listen to reason from your mother."

She choked back a laugh. "Gone back to the festivities. Twenty minutes to the other side of Denver, five to park and get inside, and at least five more minutes to ask around and find out that Austin loaned me his car. Thirty minutes, Sasha." She laughed again, bitter and sharp and sounding so much more jaded than any sixteen year old had any right to be. "I've given you every last drop of trust and faith and hope I had in me for the last year. I wrung myself out for you time and again, getting up and trying again when I wanted nothing more than to give up. I gave you everything I had, and you can damn well give me thirty minutes."

He goggled at her. "Is that what you-" Sasha swallowed jerkily and turned to wave her to the warm up area where he'd spoken to Kim, but there was a roomful of curious boxers now eyeing them. Two female visitors in one night got these guys' attention no matter what, and he definitely did not like the looks the two at the speedbags were giving Payson in her pretty little party frock. She was much too young to be receiving those looks from anyone, he thought, pausing to give both men the blackest glare he possessed. Dropping a throbbing hand on her shoulder, he ushered her outside.

She stopped at the sidewalk and looked at him questioningly.

"Where are you parked?" His eyes scanned the neighborhood, and it suddenly seemed darker, more dangerous to him now that he had a young, pretty girl in a dress standing next to him. "What were you thinking, coming to a rundown area like this on your own?" he demanded suddenly, hand clamping back on her shoulder as he steered her towards the side lot holding his truck. "Come on. I'll drive you to your car."

Now that he seemed to be resigned to at least talking to her, Payson decided that just going along with him seemed like the best course of action. After all, she knew he wouldn't leave until she was in Austin's car and on her way, which meant he was at her mercy for this conversation. "Alright," she agreed with a docile shrug. "Lead the way."

Scowling, Sasha unlocked the truck cab and slung his bag in before climbing in and stabbing the key into the ignition. "Where are you parked?" Suddenly feeling furious, with her, with himself, with Kim for not realizing that Payson was the most stubborn, bullheaded person on the planet when it came to getting something she wanted, Sasha slammed a protesting hand on the steering wheel. "Dammit, Payson, why must you keep at this? This isn't something you can guilt me into doing! My reasons are sound, and you're only hurting yourself and everyone else by refusing to see logic." He huffed in frustration, and his aching, bruised face gave a pulse of sharp, stabbing pain in response.

She smiled at him, wry and slightly lopsided. "Hurting myself? I'm not the one getting my face smashed in to punish myself for something I didn't do wrong."

She had a point, and his mouth quirked into a small, puffy, answering smile. "I wasn't getting my face smashed in, as you put it. I prefer to see it as breaking his hand."

"With your face," she added dryly.

"With my face," he agreed, fighting the urge to sling an arm around her shoulders to hug her. Just like her mother, Payson had a way of making him feel as if his reasoning had been silly and trite. "All right, perhaps I was punishing myself just a bit." Leaving the keys dangling, he slumped back and scrubbed at his face, wondering just how to make her understand how he felt. Knowing Payson, nothing but the unvarnished truth would be enough. "I not only don't deserve to coach you girls, Payson, but I've left you worse than I found you. In shambles," he began. She sat quietly, looking at him, waiting, giving him the time to tell the story in his own manner. Sasha wondered how on earth her parents dealt with this woman-child so beautifully. She turned him about, sometimes more mature than he thought possible, and other times so heartbreakingly naive and trusting that he worried about the world outside of gymnastics eating her alive someday.

"I let you all down in ways a coach can never afford to do. Emily's legal troubles could have been averted entirely if she'd just trusted me enough to call me. I could have gone to the chemist's and paid while her mother took care of the insurance mix up. I could have driven her brother to hospital. I could have prevented her trouble in any number of ways. I knew Kaylie was struggling with an eating disorder. I confronted her. I confronted her parents, and right when she needed me to be most forceful, to insist that they get her help, I crumbled. I let another girl down." His fists clenched. "And Lauren. Poor Lauren is so wrapped about the pole with her family issues and self-worth and her mother's death and trying to fill the void with boys, and I let a bit of teenage attitude muscle me out. Instead of being an outlet for her, I was just another person she felt she had to lie to." His eyes flashed as he turned to face her fully. "I have destroyed your career twice, Payson," he said bluntly. "I let you compete with your back when I should have known better, and I let you think that we..." He stumbled, searching for the right words. "... that your feelings for me were more than they were, and now this cloud will hang over you for the rest of your career. Ellen Beals will despise you forever now, just because of me. Every step of the way to the Olympics you'll have to fight that woman's influence because I simply couldn't keep my arrogance in check. I could have destroyed everything you've worked so fervently for, and that is not a coach. That is a failure. Your best chances, all four of you, lie with me leaving and starting fresh."

Payson turned to look out the windshield and was quiet for a long moment, digesting everything he'd said. "That is total and utter bullshit, Sasha," she said finally, forcefully.

"Sorry?" He goggled at her before a cynical grin crept across his mouth. "I've heard you curse more tonight than I have in the entire time I've known you, Payson."

"That's because the stakes are higher right now than they've ever been before. I'm not giving up without the fight of your life, Sasha. You're my coach. Our coach," she corrected quickly. "And I'm not letting some noble, self-sacrificing English Lit hero crap you've got stuck in your head ruin the one thing in my life that feels right." Her voice echoed with conviction, with passion, and 'right' rang with the clarity of a bell.

"It certainly felt right for me sometimes, too," he offered, turning to stare into the night. "But dealing with teenage girls can be exhausting, Payson. There are so many pitfalls, so many distractions, and you girls have entirely unique situations to deal with. Some nights I was up all night, trying to figure out how to help one of you, channel your emotions and problems into something positive, something that would make not only a better gymnast, but a better person. Other nights I fell into bed fully clothed, so bloody tired mentally that I couldn't even be bothered to take off my shoes. But sometimes it was fun, and frustrating, and rewarding and perfect." He sighed. "Please don't think I'm leaving because of you. I loved every moment of working with you, of helping you find how much artistry and beauty you had locked away inside. I'm not leaving because of you. I'm leaving for you."

"It's still leaving. Quitting. Giving up." Her features were set, stony. To Payson, particularly after he'd refused to allow her to give up, quitting was the ultimate act of betrayal.

The look of understanding he gave her only seemed to make her frown harder, so he tried to find the words to help her understand that if he didn't leave, he'd be doing her -all of them- the greatest disservice of all. "No, it's stepping back and allowing you to shine. It's letting you and the world realize precisely how much work you did to transform yourself into one of the most exquisite artistic gymnasts I've ever seen. And there's more yet inside you, Payson, if you have the time and freedom to explore yourself without constantly rehashing the drama of having me around."

"We," she replied quietly, hands folded in her lap. "How much work _we_ did, Sasha. I didn't do a single step of it alone. I had you there always, even when I wished you'd just give up and go away and see the writing on the wall."

He shook his head sadly. "The writing on the wall, Payson... it says that you have extraordinary things ahead of you. And you certainly don't need vicious gossip over an innocent reaction detracting from those extraordinary moments. I don't think I've ever lied to you, and I won't start now. I'd love nothing more than to say yes, to come home and coach you to five or six Olympic gold medals." He grinned when she let out a surprised laugh. "What? I don't expect perfection. I'll allow a silver or bronze, but only one." His smile slid off his face like hands slipping off the high bar on a missed release. "But I can't hurt you like that. I can't set you up for failure. I barely respect myself now. I think that would cap it for me."

"I get what you're saying, Sasha. At least in an intellectual sense," she allowed on a tired sigh. She slammed a fist on the dash, startling them both. "God! Is this what having a kid feels like? A stubborn, go around in circles, never-ending argument that leaves everybody feeling like a loser?" She sighed again, even more heavily, scrubbing at her face. "I am _never_ having kids."

"No, I imagine this is what a marriage feels like," he quipped back before sobering quickly, the words echoing between them. "Payson, I'm sorry. That was utterly inappropriate." And true, he added on a silent groan as realization dropped his stomach to his aching feet. The irony was that he felt most natural, most comfortable and happy, with this frustrating, talented, sixteen year old. Old soul or not, she was ten years, five at the absolute minimum, too young for him. And that, he thought grimly, was the nail in the coffin. He could not be anywhere near Payson Keeler again. Or at least for the next four years or so. He shook his head sharply. No. Ever. A coach does not think of his student like that, and a coach certainly does not look across the seat of his truck and think that she looks lovely tonight. It struck him suddenly that it was far from the first time he'd appreciated her beauty in the way a man appreciates a woman. He reached across her, arm hairs rising as they felt the phantom touch of her dress slide over his forearm, and opened the cab door. The sudden flood of the overhead light left shadows everywhere, making her look older and sadder and wiser than she could possibly be. "I'll follow you to your car. Goodbye, Payson."

She shifted her legs to jump out before changing her mind, pivoting on the seat to stare him in the eyes, her forehead folded in concentration and her eyes shadowed into inscrutability by the blasted cab light. "Sasha, I have one more thing to ask you." She swallowed hard. "Answer me honestly, and I'll leave. This one complete truth, and I'll respect your decision and never bother you again. Fair?"

He knew, deep in his twisting gut, what she was going to ask, but he nodded anyway. "Fair," he croaked with a halfhearted attempt at a smile. A week ago, even a day ago, he could have given her the answer she needed to hear. An hour ago, ten minutes ago, he could tell her that his affection for her was purely that of a coach for his gymnast. He watched her lips forming the words with a bizarre combination of dread and relief.

"If I wasn't your gymnast, if I was two years older, would you have kissed me back?"

After a long moment of silence in which neither moved or barely breathed, her brows rose. "Sasha, you promised. Besides, I'm so, so much more embarrassed than you right now, I swear. Just tell me already, so I can go."

"I-" His voice cracked. "At that particular moment, no, probably not. You're very young, Payson, and sheltered in a lot of ways that I don't think two years will do much to erase. I've led a very different life from you."

She nodded, that typical Payson Keeler focus and single-minded drive turning to her future as she buried the last of her hopes in a shallow grave. A Sasha-free future loomed, and though it felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach now, she knew she would have to get through it, over it, to focus on her Olympic dreams. "All right then." A moment to clear her throat sharply, and then, "Thanks, Sasha. Bye. Good luck to you, whatever you end up doing."

He watched the expressions flitting across her features until there was nothing left but weary determination and a blankness where there had always been a spark of _something_ in her eyes. "Payson, wait!" he blurted, hand shooting out and wrapping around her wrist, the swollen, abused knuckles letting out a strange creaking sound as he forced them to work. "Probably not then," he repeated, the words tearing themselves from his mouth, throat tightening and stomach dropping like a boy on his first date. Or a man in front of a firing line. He felt a bit like both at the moment. He cleared his throat determinedly. "Not then, but if it had been now that you'd kissed me, tonight that you'd made your feelings known..." he trailed off, feeling like the moment that bloke's fist had connected solidly with his face all over again. "Yes. Maybe just for a moment, but if I'm to be completely honest with you, then yes. But the fact of the matter is that it's completely inappropriate, and you're much too bloody young and naive, and I simply can't jeopardize your entire life's work just for what in all likelihood is a momentary infatuation on your part. I won't do you that disservice on top of all the others."

She stared at him for a long moment, and then down at the loose bracelet his bruised, bloody fingers made around her wrist, and then back up at him before leaning in slowly, watching him closely, giving him time to wake up, or back away, or make a goddamn honorable, responsible choice for once in his bloody life. Instead, he met her halfway, lips soft and undemanding, in a kiss that was far gentler and far more filled with meaning than the one she had sprung upon him in the gym not all that long ago, and all of his noble intentions sank back into his mind, content to be reexamined at a later date.

His father had, after the trials, turned and said to Sasha in his deep baritone growl, that Payson had the heart of a Romanian. He knew his father had been talking about her focus and dedication and refusal to bow before unthinkable mental pressure and physical demands, but the irony was almost overwhelming. She truly did have the heart of a Romanian. Sasha shivered as her fingers laced through the hair at the back of his head and changed the angle of the kiss just enough that they suddenly just fit together naturally, a roundoff into a back handspring, the movement and momentum a force unto itself. The urge to laugh was almost overwhelming. He wondered briefly if even then, his father had known the Romanian heart he'd referred to had been Sasha's.

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><p>So there we are, my personal canon. Hopefully, you enjoyed it as well. :) Any reviews are much appreciated, and thanks for reading! <strong>-Podkopayeva<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: For **Laura**, **Jackelyne Harkness-Jones** (a fellow Torchwood fan, I presume? :D ), and **Lurker**, none of whom I was able to contact directly to thank them for the lovely and kind reviews they left.

I had no intention of taking this past the one-shot, as it kind of burst into my head as a fully formed episode tag, but you all have changed my mind. Without giving too much away, I'll just say that 'Sheltered' will parallel the show's canon in a number of ways and will instead focus on the 'off-screen,' where I can really dig into subtext and thought processes and all of those other pesky things the MIOBI writers don't have time to do on the show. It will be a fun writing exercise to see if I can accomplish what I want to within the parameters of canon. Anyway, enough blathering on my part. I hope you enjoy!

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><p>Disembarking in Bucharest, Sasha winced as he made his way through the queue at Customs. The sounds of his first language, the one nearest to his heart and memories, was suddenly harsh and guttural in his ears.<p>

And when he saw his father, still so burly and vital, frowning solemnly in the arrivals area, his heart sank further. He'd called his father in a moment of weakness and asked him to pick him up at the airport. The announcement that he was returning home to Romania hadn't garnered the enthusiasm he'd been expecting, only a deep sigh, a sigh he remembered from his youth. It was filled with disappointment and gruffly loving censure, a testament that once again Sasha had failed to make the decision his father would have approved of.

The feeling of waking dream that he'd traveled home in, the curious suspension of thought and guilt and worry that had buoyed him on the long flight from New York to Bucharest, evaporated with a dizzying speed. The thud of his bag hitting the floor, the thwack of his father's massive arms encircling him, slapped him awake with the force of catching the inside of a thigh on the pommel horse, swift and brutal and bruising. Neither man said a word for a long time, and when one did, it was his father, who simply said, "Welcome back to Romania."

It took two sleepless nights, three pots of coffee and a vintage bottle of plum brandy before Sasha realized that his father had never said, "Welcome home." He grimaced, wondering if the choice of words had been deliberate. The suspicion had already set in that his father was a wiser and more intuitive man than he'd ever given him credit for, and Sasha took the craven path for the first time in his life. He thanked his father for the hospitality, hired a car, and rented a room in Snagov, a sleepy little village that had never heard of the Rocky Mountain Gymnastics Center, or Payson Keeler, or Sasha Belov. Well, maybe Sasha, but certainly not Alexandru Belov, the sad-eyed, taciturn new bartender at Smila's.

And during the days, while he wiped glasses and polished brass and swept out the little pub, Sasha was satisfied, if not happy. It was work, and it kept his mind occupied just enough, but at night... oh, at night he had to face himself. He perused the internet and tracked the girls' progress as best he could and wondered if the new coach had gained Emily's trust and kept Lauren focused and Payson from tromping merrily past her physical limits. He wondered if Summer thought of him, and determinedly put aside thoughts of Payson doing the same. He wondered if he could ever think of any of them without blaming himself, and how the Level Ten girls were doing, and if Austin Tucker had become a Lothario-like nightmare without Sasha there to ward him off like a protective shepherd. What he did not think about, ever, was a night spent in frustrating argument in his truck cab, or a pretty party frock, or the scent of clean apple shampoo and a woman-child that was too much of one thing and too little of another. He occasionally though of strawberry lip gloss and the bare curve of a shoulder, but that was usually right before vodka helped him to think of nothing at all.

Towards the end of his career, as Nikolai held an ice pack to Sasha's shredded ACL, his old coach had told him that his affinity for Sasha had been based in the fact that he had seen so much of himself in his protege. The determination, the fierce need to push through an injury that he knew would end his career within days, the searing desire to prove himself -his worth- to all of the doubters. Nikolai had seen it all, had known each and every one of Sasha's worst traits, and loved him regardless. He had told him that time and maturity would help him shape his faults into assets.

Sasha had never understood that until the night he'd watched Payson Keeler stride determinedly to Austin Tucker's ridiculous Porsche and climb in. Now he knew. Payson wasn't him, but she was complementary. Her faults fit into his strengths, and what he lacked she had in abundance. They had potential, potential to teach each other extraordinary things. But as Emily had proven to him, not all potential is realized and that loss of future opportunity is sometimes the most keenly felt loss of all.

He thought briefly of traveling over to Hungary and purchasing a nosebleed-level seat for the meet, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. The very fact that he wanted to be there so badly was proof positive that he couldn't be anywhere around there. Her. Them. Payson.

Sasha closed his eyes and pushed the glass to the side, raising the bottle directly to his lips.

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><p>Payson didn't think she could be any more furious with Sasha or herself than she was when the team had returned from Denver.<p>

She had thought that her trip to see him at Stu's, their kiss, their honest talk, had changed something. She'd expected him to come back, striding in with that stern intensity and barking orders about conditioning levels and sloppy extensions. She'd patiently given him one day, then two and three and four, to get it together, and as her hopes strung tighter, her landing sticks became stumbles, her triple twist a scant two-and-a-half. She'd smacked her feet on the low bar, an unforgivable lack of focus in her eyes, and did it again not two hours later.

Nothing had changed since those first few horrible post-Denver days. No, scratch that- the first morning she'd woken up under Darby the Friendly Cheerleader's regime at the Rock, Payson realized she herself had changed. She'd foolishly, childishly, believed that their kiss meant that Sasha saw it too- that they were destined to be a team, to have their moment of mistaken beliefs and revelations that only served to make them stronger, a more cohesive unit.

Instead, Payson had her revelation all by herself, alone in her room at five in the morning with swollen eyes and a sob-hoarsened voice. Sasha blamed himself more than he trusted her. She'd long thought herself an adult trapped in a teenager's body, but Payson had to acknowledge that only a naive kid could be so mistaken. She grimaced as she twisted her hair back into a utilitarian bun, Sasha's Olympic rings routine mocking her from the photograph that had migrated its way back into her mirror frame.

Dry-eyed, she slid open a drawer to gaze at a golden disk, running a finger down it gently. Time to grow up, she thought with a mental shake. Straightening her shoulders, Payson whispered to the gold medal, "He's gone. No more silly crushes or kisses or distractions. If I want a gold medal, I'm going to have to go out and get my own." She slid the drawer shut with a firm hand. "Because you don't belong to me; you never did. And I can't even look at you anymore without thinking about what a coward your owner turned out to be in the end."

With that, Payson grabbed her bag and her warmups and headed for the kitchen. Sasha was no longer her coach. Darby wasn't any coach at all. Kaylie was gone, Emily was a siren's wail from completely unraveling, and Lauren was acting like she'd rather have sex on the beam than upgrade her underwhelming aerial series for it. Fine. That was all fine. So much for team. The hell with them. She'd work on her routines, her lines and extensions, and maybe while everyone else was distracted with their stupid drama, she'd sneak into the annex and work on that arabian double front she'd tormented Lauren with. Hell, while she was at it, maybe she'd start seeing if she could get this new, taller body to stick a Yurchenko two-and-a-half vault without snapping a leg on the landing.

Payson snagged a banana and protein bar from the counter and sailed out the door, oblivious to her mother's perplexed frown. No more crap. If no one else was willing to commit, she'd do it her herself, and maybe she'd start seeing if she could pump up her DoDs while she was at it. No more playing it safe, accepting Sasha's word that she'd have to become an artistic gymnast. Screw that- it was time to test herself, to push. And if he had anything to say about that, he'd just have to get his blond butt back from whatever hole he was hiding in and tell her himself, face to face.

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><p>After the Pinewood meet, Payson was ashamed- of herself, her team, the fraud masquerading as her coach. And still she blamed Sasha, made it his fault for leaving, saw the imprint of stern blue eyes and a blond-stubbled jaw behind Darby's wounded face as she yelled at her.<p>

As if it was fate, that night she'd gone up to the office to see if her mother was ready to leave and accidentally seen the envelope addressed to Sasha, and she'd known exactly what she planned to do. Rash? Yes. Juvenile and selfish? Undoubtedly. But it didn't make a bit of difference, and so she lied to her mother as casually as she could and, under the guise of texting Emily as her mother backed their car out of the Rock's parking lot, Payson carefully keyed in the address exactly as she'd seen it on the envelope.

She didn't know how, or when, but she knew one thing. Someday soon, she'd be setting foot in Snagov, Romania.

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><p>AN: This chapter was a bit of a stylistic change (alright, more than a bit), but I like the idea of focusing on Payson and Sasha's thoughts individually for this. If the last chapter was the dream, this was that disorienting, jarring moment when you wake up and realize that those few precious moments of perfect clarity, of peace and acceptance, were nothing more than your imagination showing you what could have been in another world. It was the anger and frustration and determination that sometimes follows a dream like that, and we know that if there's one thing Payson does well, it's determination.

We know what Sasha is doing- he went back to Stu's, beat himself up both emotionally and physically, and hopped the first flight to Romania the second his visas were stamped 'approved.' While he's a deep guy, he's not particularly complex, and simply ending things with a resounding thud would appeal to him, as would continuing to beat himself up (that God complex can be a real bitch sometimes)... hence the bar-tending gig in a remote hamlet. Or did the writers on the show forget that Olympic champs (particularly handsome ones with bad boy reputations and a few fist fights with his closest competitor under their belts) also tend to garner quite the fortune in endorsements and appearances? *sigh* I don't know either, but my take is that he's punishing himself, and kind of reveling in it.

On a hilarious side note, I wrote most of this last week, so watching last night's episode and hearing Payson say, almost word for word, that you had to push, to test yourself, to Kaylie had me rolling on the floor laughing. Guess that means I'm on the right track. :)

This chapter was a bit of a bridge, but expect less introspection and more interaction and dialogue next chapter... in Snagov. :) I hope you enjoyed it and, once again, any reviews you choose to give me will really make my day! - **Podkopayeva**


	3. Chapter 3

Darby -sorry, _Coach Conrad_- had to go, and Payson realized the Hungary meet was her ticket... literally. So after Coach Conrad's little Queen of the Mountain speech at the airport, Payson put out the first feelers for her plan, hoping to get Emily and Lauren on board. She _needed_ them on board, and she needed to do things with a lot more subtlety than she was used to, so she channeled Lauren and started to scheme.

Emily was the easier mark- hit on their need for Sasha, use her desperate need for approval and belief from him. Lauren was harder, and she had the money to make the whole plan work. She needed Lauren's help, and she wasn't above twisting Steve Tanner's words to get it- God knew he'd done exactly the same thing a thousand times. Make them believe their days on the Worlds team were numbered, show the connecting flight schedule and use Lauren's wiliness against her.

If she wasn't so intent on getting to Sasha, Payson thought she just might be ashamed of manipulating the people closest to her, but she pushed all of those thoughts away until after she was tucked in a business class seat on Legovo Airlines, destination: Bucharest. Then, and only then, was it all right to lean back and let the wave of guilt crash over her head. Payson spent the majority of the flight in silence, pretending to sleep.

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><p>Snagov was... rustic. She'd been expecting a suburb, kind of like Boulder, or where she'd lived back in Minnesota. Instead, Payson stared out of a dust-streaked cab window at decaying wooden fences leaning drunkenly in the wind, laundry flapping very nearly in the street, and roads that looked like they came out of her American History book, circa 1820.<p>

Maybe the Airstream had been an upgrade for Sasha.

"Snagov. We here," the cabbie exclaimed in loud broken English over the noise of pop music that would be considered horrible in any language blaring from the radio. "You have wait?"

Payson leaned forward and spoke loudly and slowly, hoping the driver understood English better than he spoke it. "Yes, you wait. You take us back to Bucharest?"

"Big, BIG tip," Lauren added, leaning forward, hands spread to illustrate her point. "You wait, get _big_ tip. Okay?"

The cabbie grinned, showing crooked yellow teeth. "Yes. Okay."

They piled out and looked around, suddenly at a loss. Now that they had done the impossible and ditched Darby and Summer, caught a flight to Romania and a cab to Snagov, Payson realized she hadn't really thought through the rest. She had the address, of course, and had shown it to the taxi driver, but he was from Bucharest. He didn't know the street, only waved around expansively as if to say, "This is it."

Emily tugged the paper with the address from Payson's clenched fingers. "Okay. Let's find someone to ask directions. It can't be far- this place looks like it's got maybe five streets."

"Somebody who speaks English," Lauren added with a grimace, peering over her shoulder at the cab. The driver waved merrily through a cloud of cigarette smoke. "Look! Over there, guys. It's a street sign." She grabbed the paper from Emily. "Let me see that. Maybe it's the road we're looking for."

Fifteen minutes later, the girls were wandering forlornly through the seemingly empty town. "Maybe I transposed a number?" Payson offered, squinting at house numbers. She stopped as Lauren's fingers dug into her arm. "What?"

"There's that lady on the bicycle again," she said, stepping away with a determined expression. "Come on."

Payson continued to berate herself silently after the woman had basically told them they were shit out of luck. She let Lauren lead the way back towards the little tavern that seemed to be the only functioning business in Snagov, paying more attention to the dust puffing up under her dragging feet than her surroundings.

Lauren startled, body tensing like a runner at the mark. "Hey!" she cried, taking a single step forward as the Mercedes barreled around them, the cab driver waving happily at them as he left.

"Shit," Emily muttered with feeling. "We are _so_ screwed now."

Lauren scowled at the dust trail left behind as the taxi left town, and them. "If he charges a tip to that credit card, I am going to find him and kick his sorry-"

Emily was right. They were totally screwed. "Come on," Payson cut in tiredly. "Let's go to… Olimpia Bar." At least the sign was in English. Maybe they had a phone there they could use to call another cab back to Bucharest.

The girls trudged into the bar and paused to let their eyes adjust to the dim surroundings. A handful of men, all older and looking like they'd led hard lives, were perched on stools at a worn, well-kept bar. The men stared at the newcomers, all conversation paused mid-sentence. The girls stared back, realizing that maybe a bar open in the middle of the day might not be the safest place for three teenage girls in a foreign country where they didn't speak the language or have an escape if things got sticky.

"Shit," Emily said again.

Payson's stomach dropped to her toes, and then continued to fall right through the floor. Sasha –_Sasha_ of all people!- was hauling a crate of bottles in from a storage room, his back to them, unaware of their presence. Even without seeing his face, she knew it was him, knew that permanently mussed hair and slim build and the shape of his deltoids bulging with the effort of moving the crate. She took an unconscious step forward, and then another. "Sasha?" She felt Emily and Lauren behind her, frozen in disbelief.

The crate clattered to the ground as Sasha stiffened, popping up straight like a jack in the box whose mechanism had snapped unexpectedly. No. Surely his imagination was playing tricks on him, conjuring up the voice of the one person he was trying hardest to block from his mind.

"Seriously?" Lauren's mouth hung open. Of all the dumb luck.

He turned slowly with the disbelieving expression of a man who'd just been told Hell was real and the Devil was at his back. "Payson?" His eyes, if possible, widened further. "What in bloody hell are you three doing here?"

And thus started the conversation Payson had imagined over and over since she'd discovered the envelope with Sasha's address on it. It wasn't nearly as encouraging in reality as it had been in her head. She gulped, bellied up to the bar and sat down, Lauren and Emily flanking her. "You know why we're here." She mustered every last drop of courage and bravado in the face of the fury suddenly radiating off of Sasha. "If you thought you could just run away without facing the music, Sasha, you thought wrong." Emily grasped her hand under the bar, and Payson reached out for Lauren, the three girls linked in purpose. "We're not leaving without you, Sasha."

He scowled at them, grey eyes shooting icy daggers. "Then I hope you're prepared to enjoy the comforts of Romania, because I am _not_ coming with you." The eyes thawed a few degrees, and the rigid posture sagged at the shoulders. "There are some things you just can't change, girls. Please- get back in your car and go." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "If you leave soon, I'm sure you'll make Budapest before any lasting damage is done to your careers."

They looked at one another, silently coming to an agreement. "Can we have some water, please?" Emily asked.

"And a menu," Lauren added. "I'm _starving_." She looked around with a disdainful sniff. "You do have food that's edible here, right? I'm not going to get food poisoning or some weird supervirus or anything?"

In spite of himself, Sasha's mouth quirked while he filled three glasses with water. "I'm sure we can manage to find something, Lauren. This is Romania, not a Stalin-era gulag."

* * *

><p>They were on the verge of giving up- Payson could feel Emily and Lauren's readiness to surrender like two black holes next to her. She was the only one bolstered by his nasty comment about losing to Pinewood, the only one who was sure that if she just waited, he would cave eventually. He had to. She refused to let what she knew was just a natural obstinacy on his part get in her way. He was stubborn? Great. Awesome. She could out-stubborn him if she had to.<p>

But Emily and Lauren grew more and more pessimistic, and after both had tried to talk to him one on one, Payson knew she was it. The old three-strikes-and-you're-out philosophy. And so it hadn't made her nervous when she told them to leave, and that she was staying. It felt right.

If she had to go to Hungary, Sasha had to come, too. And if he was staying here, then so was she. It was simple. It was just like Denver all over again. He wouldn't put her on that train to Budapest alone, and she wasn't getting on it without him, no matter what. Walking back into the bar alone, she slid back onto her stool, took a sip of water, and calmly pulled the plate of food Lauren had ordered in front of her. If she was going to outwait Sasha, she was going to need her energy.

* * *

><p>The first five minutes had been a glaring contest, furious grey against mulish blue. Neither wavered, neither budged, and gradually the few other patrons began to resume their conversations. Payson wondered briefly if they were speculating on why the new bartender had three teenage girls come to see him, and one who stayed. Her face colored a little at that, assuming they thought she was… that she and Sasha were… no. Payson shook the thoughts away firmly. No more crushes, no more silly feelings. This was her career -and his- on the line. She could deal with those traitorous feelings swirling in her stomach later… like after Worlds, or maybe the Olympics. There was no room left for childish fantasies, only goals.<p>

Payson forked another bite of borscht into her mouth, chewing with an obnoxious exaggeration just to tick off Sasha, who had polished the same set of glasses twice and yelled at the cook who'd given her the second plate of food. She had no idea what he was saying, since he was going a mile a minute in Romanian, but she was sure it had something to do with elite gymnasts and their diets. The calories and fat count were _so_ not on her daily eating plan.

The next five minutes had been composed of Sasha trying to physically muscle her out the door, her elbow caught in his firm grasp. Only Payson had the advantage, because she was no wilting flower- she wasn't going anywhere unless he dragged her out by a dislocated arm or slung her over his shoulder like a keg of beer. He tried neither, and she eventually retook her stool with a smile of triumph. One small victory at a time.

After that, Sasha let his temper get the best of him, and he began to lay into the stubborn girl on the other side of his bar with gusto. He scolded her in English, cursed her out in florid Romanian -to the great amusement of his customers- and finally lapsed into the Russian he remembered learning as a child from his grandparents, words flying from his mouth without much forethought at all. He hadn't spoken Russian in twenty years, but it came back in a great gushing flood of impotent rage and hurt and fear. Through it all, Payson blinked at him, intimidated, but unbroken. Letting his head fall back in frustration, he wondered if Smila would fire him if he punched a hole in her wall.

Through Sasha's whole rant, Payson had let him go unchecked, let him blow off the steam that she could practically see pouring out of his ears. But now that he'd finally wound down, she figured maybe he was ready to talk, to really talk to her for the first time since a night spent in a dark truck cab in Denver.

Sasha sighed gustily and plowed both hands through his hair. He'd give it one last try. "You're going to get yourself kicked off the team, Payson. This little side expedition has been a massive breach of trust, not to mention ethics and likely law. Just where did you girls get the money to come here?"

Yes, what she'd done was wrong, and yes, she knew that she was in all likelihood sacrificing her spot on the Worlds team. She'd lied to everyone- her mother, Emily, Lauren, maybe even herself. She'd spent more than a thousand dollars of Steve Tanner's money without his knowledge or approval, made Darby look a fool, and put everyone else's asses on the line right along with hers. She could hear her mother in her head exclaiming in disappointment about how irresponsible and careless she'd been.

Payson bowed her head. Her voice was low, the words coming out slow and thick like they were being dragged through syrup. "I've finally learned something about myself- I'm at my most reckless, most dangerous, not when I have nothing left to lose, but when I have the world to lose and I'm willing to risk everything."

Sasha's face twitched with surprise. "That's from my book. It's how I felt the night before the All Around, with my knee shredded."

"It's exactly how I feel." Payson explained with devastating simplicity. "I'm risking so much right now just being here, just to talk to you and find out why you're so intent on walking away. I'm not an idiot and I'm not a child, Sasha. I know you think I'm being rash and stupid and immature." She gulped in a deep breath. "Because that's exactly what I think you're being."

"Payson," he sighed. "Someday, when you're older, you'll understand. This wasn't an easy choice-"

"Shut up!" she exclaimed, slapping a hand on the bar. "Don't feed me that… that bullshit! Where's the Sasha _I _know? When did you become someone who ran away from the hard things in life? When did you become the guy so afraid of his next mistake that he quit? Because I'd like to know- this way I can avoid making the same mistake. I don't want to turn into that _someday when I'm older_." She winced inwardly as her jab hit home, Sasha's face paling under the light tan he seemed to always have.

Then there was nothing left to say, nothing except words whose only value lay in their ability to hurt and maim and scar, so Payson and Sasha fell silent. After that, the only communication that went on was in helpless glances and hunched, protective postures, stolen looks and false bravado, leaving each opponent heartsick and tired but unwilling to cede ground, staring at one another across a gap so massive it seemed nothing could ever cross it.

And that was exactly how Summer found them more than an hour later, mired in misery and a battle of wills so intense that even the few locals in the pub had gotten up and left, uncomfortable with the silent war raging. Great, Summer thought. Rock, meet hard place. She sent up a quick prayer- she knew she'd need a little divine help to get through this without smacking either of the two stubborn idiots in the back of the head.

Payson looked up in surprise when Summer came in the door. When she asked about Emily and Lauren, Payson knew what was coming next. "They already left. They took a train to Budapest. And I am _not_ leaving without Sasha." She knew it wasn't Summer's fault, but she couldn't help but blame her just a little. She'd played a role in all of this, too, had somehow been involved with Sasha before she'd gone running back to the Tanners. Payson frowned belligerently. I guess Miss Christianity 2011 isn't so morally perfect after all, she thought uncharitably.

"Honestly. I don't know who's more stubborn, you or him." Summer felt a little flip in her stomach when Sasha emerged from the back room, her eyes flying to his face without conscious thought. Maybe, in a dark little corner of her heart, she hoped he would drop a glass or gape dramatically at her. It hurt more than a bit when his eyes only flickered briefly over her before returning to Payson, who was chewing mechanically and staring Sasha down with an intensity that was just a little intimidating for a sixteen year old.

"One of the hardest lessons you'll learn at your age, is that you can't always get what you want." In her head, Summer sighed. Maybe she'd forgotten that lesson, too. "What am I saying? At any age. He's not coming back, and there is nothing you can say or do to change his mind. I know that hurts, but it's time to let go." Summer looked again at Sasha and acknowledged that she was speaking to herself just as much as she was to Payson. Maybe they had more in common than she'd ever thought. They both had inappropriate feelings for a man they could never be with. Her resolve hardened. This was a girl that needed a friend right now, someone that was unquestionably supporting _her_. "And _I_ am not leaving here without _you_." Because really, when it came down to it, maybe two broken hearts sharing their pain was better than each mourning it separately.

Payson let Summer's words wash over her. She was right. She'd done her best- she'd come here, hung it all out, had given Sasha her best shot. He wasn't coming with her. The knowledge hit her like a beam to the chest, but she realized something. She would never forgive herself if she left without using every last bullet in her gun.

Sliding to her feet, she began the long march to Sasha, heart and feet heavier with every step. That one moment when they faced each other without opening their mouths felt like an eternity because the pain shooting so horribly through her heart was mirrored perfectly in his eyes. He wanted to come back, maybe as badly as she wanted him to, but he wasn't done punishing himself yet. Payson wrapped a red grosgrain ribbon around her hands. Fine. He wanted to punish himself? She'd leave him with the words that would wound him deepest, words that they might not ever truly come back from.

"When you gave this to me to hold, it represented something special," she began softly, building up the courage to say what she had to. "Not _just_ athletic triumph, but... everything I believed you stood for." The words came harder, sharper now, tears rising up her throat like hypodermic needles riding in on an ocean tide.

She watched him swallow hard, his gaze falling to the floor. Eyes filling up, she pressed on. "Courage, strength, kindness, perseverance... and never, _ever_ giving up. He looked back up, and she held his eyes. She owed him that as she cut him down with her final words. "Now when I look at it, all I see is a quitter. You quit..." Her throat clogged. "... on me, you quit on the Rock, you quit on everybody."

Summer stood by, glad she was out of the line of sight... and fire. But she thought what Payson was saying would be cathartic for her, and maybe it was more than a little true. She tried, the good Lord knew she tried, to be a good woman that lived the Christian values, but so far she agreed with every word Payson had said.

"So... here." Payson slapped the medal down on the bar, never looking away, never blinking. She saw his pain, felt her own, and blamed him for both. He could fix everything so easily if he'd jut let go of his stupid belief that they were better off without him. She tried to show him with the look in her eyes that she wasn't better off without him, that she was crumbling without him. They all were. They needed his strength to lean on when theirs just wasn't enough. "I don't want it anymore." She turned and hurried out the front door, never stopping, never pausing, never looking back. Maybe that would be the last lesson Sasha had ever taught her: to run without looking back.

Summer started to follow Payson- she needed comfort, and they needed to get to Budapest. Both jobs fell to her, but instead, she turned back, back to Sasha, back to look and speak and feel the electricity around him one last time. She wanted him to hop the bar, or yell out "Wait!" or catch her by an arm and spin her into his embrace, just for a moment, like the hero in a silly romance movie would.

Instead, he leaned on the bar like his knees refused to support his weight, fingers rubbing over and over a red ribbon and eyes locked on a golden disk. When he finally looked up, finally registered that she was still there, Summer realized that the look in his eyes was suspicion, like a dog that had been beaten so badly by its master that it expected the next hand to come along to beat it, too.

"You have to understand," she began pleadingly, trying to erase that hunted, haunted look from his handsome face, "that she's angry and... she's hurt." Again, Summer wondered just whose behavior and feelings she was explaining.

"Yeah, I know," he whispered, eyes locked on the gold medal. '**Alexandru Belov: Men's All-Around Champion**' it taunted from between his nerveless fingers. Sasha stared at his name and tried to gather himself, tried to forget the afterimage of Payson fleeing that seemed permanently burned into his retinas. "What about you?" he asked, finally looking directly at Summer. "Are you angry at me, too?" He didn't know how, or when, but the feelings of betrayal and self-loathing and terror had knotted around both the woman-child he wasn't allowed to think of that way and the woman he'd tried to change himself for. It seemed they both wanted more of him than he was capable of giving.

That beaten look howled at her from grey eyes. "I was... but I'm okay now." Lord, forgive me for telling a lie. "I understand why you felt like you had to leave."

His eyebrow twitched, a subtle reminder that he was very, very good at deciphering truths from lies. Payson had spoken the truth with absolute conviction- she thought him a coward and a quitter, and she didn't want his medal as a reminder of him. But Summer... Summer told him a lie that, while coming from a desire to not hurt him, made him sad. She deserved a man that could make her happy, one that she didn't feel she had to lie to or change, and he realized now that that man had never been him. Not really, no matter how much he wished otherwise. Summer was beautiful, loyal, kind and so very appropriate- she was the kind of woman he wanted himself to be with, to fall in love with. If you asked him to list the qualities he wanted in the woman he loved, he would describe Summer Van Horn. The problem was that his heart, which he drank into silence each night, disagreed. It wanted its stubborn, wildly unsuitable, contrary mate.

"I know it was about the girls and had nothing to do with us." She said the words, spoke them as declarative sentences, but her eyes might as well have been two blue question marks. She wondered if maybe he had run for more than one reason, and if maybe she hadn't given up on him too soon. Sasha was a handsome, kind, good man, and good men could be turned into good Christians. Even Paul started out as Saul.

Sasha couldn't hold her gaze.

"Because you... thought you let the girls down, you thought your presence was harming them." And me, she added silently. Did you stop me that night because you thought you were harming me?

He took her words as benediction, as someone finally agreeing with his position, and the pressure that felt like it was crushing him began to lessen. "Thank you," he whispered earnestly.

Summer drew herself up straighter. "I said I understand," she said, words suddenly colder, less ambiguous. "I didn't say I agree. All any of us can ask of ourselves is that we do the best we can with what we've been given." If Payson could give Sasha a boot in the rear, then so could she. "Being here? Doing this? It's not your best. You know it."

As Summer said a quiet goodbye and headed for the door, pausing for a long moment to look back at him, Sasha absently fiddled with the medal in his still-numb hands, the clean, apple-and-sunflower smell he associated with Payson drifting up to his nostrils. He raised the ribbon to his nose and closed his eyes a moment- it smelled like her. The last sight he had of them was out the grimy window, Summer trying to hug a stiff Payson, whose unblinking eyes stared out at the horizon, seeing nothing.

She looked as frozen as he felt.

* * *

><p>AN: Whew! So that was a long one, right? And a pretty drastic change in tone from beginning to end, but I couldn't find the right spot to cut it into two distinct chapters, so... hey! It's 2-for-1 day in 'Sheltered' Land. :)

I know some of you were hoping I'd write out Summer, and I bet at least a few you thought I was going to use her as a human punching bag (go on, you know you did! ), but I really think her character has more potential than as a prissy, pontificating know-it-all. I like the concept of Summer, and I like the juxtaposition of her as what society (and Sasha) would think of as suitable for him versus what he truly wants, when he can bring himself to examine and admit to it. So many times we choose things that we think will make us happy, or stay in a situation that we know is wrong simply because what the world thinks is so damned important to us. Summer is what he should want, his Lifemate Checklist winner. Payson is the paper shedder that ate his checklist.

I'm so flattered everybody is enjoying and responding to the story- it's really made my days to open the wonderful reviews you've all left, so thank you very, very much. I hope you enjoyed this (monster!) chapter as well, and I hope you'll take the time to leave a review! :) This chapter was a beast- it took _forever _to write. -**Podkopayeva**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** No, I haven't died or been abducted by aliens or gangpressed into helping produce another devil-spawned Kartrashian show, and yes I know it's been six months. I'll summarize, because otherwise we'll have a whole chapter of How Screwed Can Pod's Life Get? (Written in the third person and skipping merrily among tenses because I feel like being a self-indulgent whiner for a minute. Feel free to skip straight to the story, though. I'll never know.):

_Pod's SIL decides to out herself as a raging alcoholic and Pod ends up taking her nieces for the summer, which was actually awesome because she loves those girls bunches, but going from one to three kids isn't three times the work, it's, like, a factor of three. Insanity. Then discover they had raging cases of head lice. OMG, total cleaning freak out. Find out Dad's shortness of breath is massive blocked artery stuff, and spend week in hospital holding his hand after emergency triple bypass. Dad lives and Pod gets to go home and rediscover the wonder that is sleep. Okay, adopt a shelter puppy. Super cute… but take him to the vet and discover he has mange, worms, etc. OMGWTF, total cleaning freak out part deux. Pod posts previously written story in another fandom and thinks that the shitstorm is over and she can settle back into the free therapy that is writing. Pod is clearly a dumbass with terrible karma, because Pod is wrong. OMGWTFWHYDOYOUHATEMEGOD. Life Altering Shizz goes down courtesy of the hubby and Pod suddenly become the unemployed single mother of a little boy with a mortgage and bills and scary grown up crap liberally seasoned with Desperate and Rapid Fire Search for a Job That Actually Pays the Bills._

**Morale of the Story:** All those times I bitched about having a bad day here and there? I TAKE IT BACK. Worst six months ever without actually having a loved one die.

But a few days ago I thought about this story and got the itch to start writing again, so hopefully I remember (vaguely) how to write and can get back in the swing of things.

… And yes, I will totally take pity reviews. I'm a fanfic writer- I'll take any reviews and be damned thrilled I got them. Hope this doesn't suck, and away we go…

* * *

><p>When an authoritative knock had pulled Payson from sleep, she had looked at the clock. Three o'clock in the morning. Who the hell was waking them up in the middle of the night? Was there a fire? Had someone died? She sprang from bed, sharing an alarmed look with Emily.<p>

It had felt like a dream when the door had opened and revealed Sasha, his stubble longer than normal, his eyes bruised with an obvious lack of sleep. He was there- really there, because if she was dreaming he'd look a heck of a lot better than he did in reality. He looked like a man who'd been awake for days and was majorly pissed off about it. He looked like he could chew on nails and spit out screws, but he was still the most beautiful thing she'd seen in ages.

Listening to him, Payson wondered what had made him change his mind and dazedly realized that she didn't care. Whether it had been her or Summer or something else entirely, it didn't matter. Sasha had come back. But to look at him in the half-light, hear him gruffly lay down the law, see his eyes try to punch holes in her felt like the sweetest thing she'd ever seen.

"How do we do that?" she had asked softly when his rapid fire words had stopped short like a pistol with an empty clip, not daring to blink, thinking he might disappear like a feverish dream.

"Show me you can win," he'd spat back at her.

She held the joy in, because he didn't want to see Payson the human being or Payson the girl he'd kissed once not so long ago. He wanted to see the Payson3000, and damn if she wasn't going to give it to him. Of course, once that door closed behind his surly, snarling self, she let Payson the girl squeal and Snoopy-dance her little heart out with Emily.

He was _back_.

* * *

><p>Returning to Boulder was the right thing to do, Sasha knew, even if it made emotions he didn't want to deal with swirl uncomfortably in his belly. He'd had hours after Payson and Summer had left Snagov to realize they were both right. Returning to his childhood home had been an act of cowardice, a way to hide from things that he just didn't know how to deal with. It wasn't until after he'd made the decision to go to Hungary, after he'd forked over the exorbitant amount for a last minute train ticket that he'd felt that frozen, comfortingly numb block around his heart begin to shift and rumble and threaten to crack entirely.<p>

As he shouldered his duffle bag and stepped off the train platform in Budapest, Sasha laid some ground rules for himself. It was the only way he'd be able to do this without utterly destroying himself in the process.

1. Coaching was a job. It was not a calling, or a need, or a destiny. It was a choice, and his choice was to train these girls to reach their highest potential, to see them through Worlds to the London Games. It wasn't part of the job description to immerse himself in their lives, to let them worm their way into his. He would prepare them, lead them, not lose himself to them.

2. Romantic entanglements would have no place in his life in Boulder. He'd involved himself with Summer against his better judgment and it had ended in exactly the sort of disaster he should have foreseen. They were different, fundamentally so, and no amount of attraction or admiration would ever truly change that. She was a lovely woman, one that he knew could ultimately change him for the better, but doing so would damage her and he wouldn't allow that to happen. Summer deserved a man that would raise her up, not drag her down to his level, and he was not and would never be that man.

3. He would return to the form he'd first arrived in Boulder in. He would see how the girls performed at the East Euro meet, note their strengths, observe their weaknesses. The flight back to the U.S. would be spent planning the best course for each of them, the tweaks for their routines to afford them the best opportunity for medals at Worlds. If he was going to coach, he would give them every ounce of experience and creativity he had at his disposal. He would give them everything he had, but in return he would demand an equal level of professionalism. All this extraneous bullshit would stop or they could find themselves another coach.

4. He would distance himself from Payson. Their discussion at the bar had shaken him badly at levels he didn't want to acknowledge. Even when he'd tried to close his eyes and rest on the train ride, all he could feel was the accusing weight of his medal in his hands, all he could smell was apples and sunflowers, all he could see was her stiff back and unblinking eyes as Summer hugged her. She was like vodka in the bottle on his nightstand, taunting him in every moment of weakness, there if he only reached for her. Well, he wouldn't. What she needed from him was a coach, and what she wanted from him would no longer have any bearing on his behavior. He was an adult, and it was damned well time he behaved like one.

* * *

><p>Sasha had expected the East Euro meet to be a disaster after the insane amount of nonsense the girls had pulled, but even he was surprised by how much hell three teenaged females could rain down. Calling it a disaster was generous; a complete and utter cluster was more accurate.<p>

The plane ride, of course, was not spent in any approximation of what he had anticipated when he'd boarded the last train of the previous night to Budapest. His seat on the transatlantic flight, ironically and uncomfortably located between Summer and Darby, made for a hellishly interminable torture session. Summer kept trying to sympathetically clasp his arm, Darby kept shooting him glances that were equal parts hurt puppy dog and pissed off rival, and his knee ached horribly from the cramped quarters.

_Pregnant_.

Jesus Christ. This was exactly what happened when a teenager was allowed to coach teenagers. Darby had been an exceptional gymnast, but she was clearly not cut out for the disciplinarian life of a coach, at least not without a few more years under her belt and a fleet of touchy-feely, coddled gymnasts to mentor. He was equally disgusted with Summer, who he'd at least trusted to continually shower the girls with admonitions against premarital sex or executing credit card fraud and international flight.

Even aside from all of that, which was quite bad enough, the girls had performed abysmally, certainly not up to the standard he expected from them. Ivanka Kirilenko should not have destroyed them as easily as she had, and Payson's floor routine, while enough to edge out the Russian, clearly needed at least three tenths of a point more in DoD before Worlds. And Darby allowing that stunt on her bars routine with the Shaposhnikova was completely unacceptable. Lauren's beam was solid, but she was capable of more still. Her punch front was going to be pushed up to a standing Arabian if it killed both her and Sasha to get it- she had everything she needed for a shot at event finals gold and he was going to get her there. As for Emily… Emily had no excuse for her performance at all. Once the pregnancy was taken care of, she absolutely had to fix the self confidence issues. Either that or he was going to remove her from the Worlds team. She would learn self discipline or she would leave. It was that simple now. There was no more time for one step forward, two steps back teenaged bullshit. Her skills and technique were ready; her head was not.

Sasha nearly stabbed his pencil through his notebook in sheer frustration and impotent rage. Taking a deep breath and ignoring Summer's latest attempt to engage him in conversation, Sasha stretched his legs as best as he could and turned his attention to the beam routines he was sketching out on the paper. Coach, Belov, he told himself firmly. Just coach.

* * *

><p>When the alarm sounded at five fifteen, Payson sat up, smiled to herself and rolled out of bed to stretch her back and hips, as she dutifully did every morning, ever mindful of the surgeon's warning about scar tissue and possible loss of flexibility. And for the next ten minutes, as she shifted and twisted and arched, the small smile never left her face. That same feeling of jubilation, of <em>rightness<em>, bubbled in her belly exactly as it had when she and Emily had looked at one another in a dark hotel room in Hungary and... she didn't know what else to call it, but 'squeed' sounded exactly like it had felt to have Sasha standing at their door with his stern, no-nonsense game face on. He was back, he was focused, and he would make sure the team got back on the right path. The path to Worlds and, later down the line, the Olympics. Payson knew it as surely as she knew that fire was hot or air necessary to breathe.

And in the gym, even after all of the _melodrama_ that had gone on, she again felt right, like Sasha was the missing balancing force that allowed her to be selfish and focus only on her own goals, her own routines. No more coaching, no more acting as emotional crutch or confessor or common sense for her friends- that was Sasha's job. Hers was to figure out what had gone wrong with her DoDs and her execution at the East Euro meet, because the results there were _not_ acceptable. Not by a long shot. No Genghi Cho, no Kelly Parker and no new-and-crazy-good Ivanka Kirilenko was going to beat her if she had anything to say about it.

And Payson had had time, both on the long flight home and in her room (after the grounding she'd gotten for ditching the team chaperones, executing a coup, and fleeing the country on Mr. Tanner's dime to frog-march Sasha back where he belonged) to realize several things that were crucial to her training plan.

1. Artistic gymnast or not, the only events she was internationally competitive on for a medal right now were floor and the bars, and only that if she threw the Shaposhnikova, a move Sasha was already snarling about taking back out of her routine. Her beam was good enough only to keep her in the hunt in the all-around, and she'd be lucky to make event finals in it. Vault was a disaster. She knew it, and even Darby the Friendly Cheerleader knew it, hence the deal-with-the-devil upgrade offer. Even if executed flawlessly, a 4.7 start wasn't going to hack it at Worlds, and certainly not the Olympics. She'd bought whole-heartedly into Sasha's plan to be artistic, but she needed to up her DoDs. A lot. And if regaining some of her power moves was the only way to do that, then she would. Sasha was dead set against that plan for some reason - probably didn't want her ending her career for good this time if she messed up again- but she'd find a way, even if it involved after-hours practices in the Annex with Austin or Max for spotting.

2. Darby was good for something after all- she'd woken Payson up to reality before she'd bowed out gracefully when their flight landed in Denver. Coaches could be great or they could be walking disasters, but the only one she had to praise or blame when that score flashed on the board was herself. Darby couldn't do her vault. Sasha couldn't elongate her lines or stick her landings- the buck stopped with her, and all the drama, all the blame, wasn't necessary. If she spent time whining and conspiring and thinking about crap that didn't affect her future scores, then she was wasting time and energy and effort, and that wasn't acceptable. She knew Kaylie and Lauren used to call her GymnasticsBot and The Payson3000 as insults back when they were younger, but she didn't see how that focus could be a bad thing right now.

3. Learning Lauren's beam routine taught Payson something entirely different than how to be 'sexy.' She snorted at the thought. Instead, it taught her that she was capable of acting, of playing a role and playing it well. Like she had finally embraced the role of Juliet in her floor routine, Lauren was another role she could use if she had to. And now she knew Payson3000 was the role she had to play- no more mooning over Sasha, or worrying about Emily or stupid concerts at the Pizza Shack. No silly dates with Max.

4. Max. He was gorgeous and sweet, and even she wasn't thick enough to miss that he kind of liked her. It no longer mattered if he liked her more or less than Lauren, not unless he suddenly turned into a Worlds or Olympics-selected judge. And if he was serious about her, he'd be around later, when she had time for a social life. And if he wasn't? Well, then she didn't need a boy so fickle he couldn't respect her priorities.

"Pay?" Kim called into the pre-dawn gloom just beginning to edge towards sunrise. "We need to get going. Sasha has you scheduled for a six a.m. strength training session with Kelly Parker and Lauren."

Rolling to her feet and slinging her gym bag over her shoulder, Payson smiled grimly. Time to go to work.

* * *

><p>AN2: A very special thank you to **JCI_, _**who kindly pointed out that I muffed the release move of Payson's, It's a Shaposhnikova, not a Shushunova (totally different release move, and a hard one, at that!). Hopefully the edited chapter will be up quickly. My apologies to you all for the error. :) -**Pod**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Thank you all for the lovely reviews and the well wishes; they're truly appreciated. :)

* * *

><p>"<em>Again<em>, Kaylie," Sasha sighed for what seemed like the thousandth time. She'd over-rotated her vault and ended up stumbling to her knees and he wanted to yell at her, but he knew she was still too emotionally fragile for his naturally gruff critiquing instincts. It didn't make swallowing down his frustration any easier, however, and Sasha's mood had hardly been buoyant to begin with.

Summer floated up next to him, increasing his ire. Though she had announced to all and sundry her re-engagement to Steve Tanner, she'd still found any number of little excuses to insinuate herself in his general area. "It's almost lunch time, Sasha. I'm ordering in a sandwich from Sandy's." She laid a gentle hand on his elbow. "What can I get you?"

He tried not to frown at her and, judging by her crestfallen expression, failed. "Nothing, thanks. I have fish and a salad in my refrigerator." Watching Kaylie trudge tiredly back down the runway made him amend thoughtfully, "Actually, I'll take a grilled chicken breast and a side of steamed vegetables for Kaylie."

"That's so sweet of you," Summer practically simpered, edging half a step closer so that the fluttery edge of her blouse tickled his biceps. "How is she doing?"

He knew she was well meaning and that she truly cared about the girls, but lately everything she said or did grated like a rotten tooth. If she wanted to marry a deceptive little weasel like Tanner, that was fine, but she needed to stop playing both sides of the fence. She'd made her choice and he'd made his- he had no intention of taking back up with Summer van Horne even if she stripped naked and climbed into his lap. "She's progressing," he sighed heavily, taking a small step back. "Determined to make the Worlds team."

From what Steve had told her that was a very slim possibility. Summer frowned lightly, noticing how Sasha sidled away from her whenever she came near him. "Are you going to add her?" she asked, her eyes tracking Kaylie's movements.

One shoulder came up in a shrug. "I'm still deciding. It depends on how quickly her stamina and consistency come back."

They watched Kaylie sprint down the runway and sail through the air, nailing her vault with only the tiniest of hops on the landing. "And have you heard from Emily?"

"No." He'd spoken a handful of times with Chloe Kmetko, but it seemed Emily was resolute about staying in Vegas and keeping the baby. Sasha though it was maybe for the best; it had seemed that Emily couldn't deal with the day to day mental strain of the highest level of gymnastics. If she was flubbing routines at international meets, she would collapse entirely at the pressure cookers that were Worlds and the Olympics. Competitive gymnastics was a vicious world, and the mental aspect was just as important as the physical talent. Not everyone was equipped to survive in it.

Despite what Summer seemed to infer, he didn't begrudge Emily her choice. No teenager deserved to go through life as a young, unwed and unemployed mother, but she had friends and family who loved her. Regardless of whether she and Damon worked out, Sasha knew the younger man would support Emily and their child, and that would have to be enough. He'd assured Chloe that he would always be available for their family and let it go. There was nothing more he could do for Emily now. "Good, Kaylie," he called, making a notation on his clipboard and turning away from Summer. "Go collect Lauren and Payson- your lunch will be here in twenty minutes."

"But I didn't order lunch," Kaylie replied, slinging a towel around her neck as she approached. "I brought one."

Sasha shrugged and lied through his teeth. "That's my fault. I ordered lunch and forgot I had a plate made up in my refrigerator. I was hoping you could take it off my hands for me."

Kaylie gave him a disbelieving smile that said she knew exactly what he was up to. "Smooth, Sasha. Real smooth."

He patted her shoulder and let out a sigh of relief as Summer walked away. "I thought so."

She snorted. "Whatever. I'll eat it, but you're explaining it when my mother calls you in a panic because my lunch bag is still full."

* * *

><p>Payson had spent the past few weeks attacking her routines like they'd personally offended her. During the day, she trained with a single-minded ferociousness that Lauren mocked incessantly and at night she sat on her bed with her training tapes in the DVD player and a dog-eared copy of the Code of Points on her lap until her mother barged in and demanded she turn out the light and go to sleep.<p>

In theory it was simple to upgrade a routine; in practice, not so much. So many of her points came from combo skills or elements that led naturally from one into another that it was practically impossible to upgrade one thing without starting a whole horrible chain reaction. She had newfound respect for Sasha and the choreographers, because this was frying her brain big time.

Two weeks of deconstructing and studying three routines and a vault and all she had to show for it was a notebook with half its pages torn out, a calculator with a shattered corner from where she'd chucked it across the room and an absurdly short list.

**FX:** 3rd pass close with connecting 3/2 to 3/2? Bonus?

**BB:** Roundoff lay step on?, switch ring leap connection?

**UB:** Triple twist dismount, Shaposh back in, release upgrade (keep grip same!)

**VT:** Ditch bullshit baby vaults. Double Yurchenko again and another bigger?

Looking at her list, Payson carefully folded it in quarters and slipped it in her bag. Sasha had been preaching at them all about consistency, but she'd been hitting her routines pretty much since they'd gotten back. Maybe if she waited to catch him in a good mood he'd be amenable to some of her suggestions.

* * *

><p>He was not.<p>

Payson had waited until the end of the day, a time when he was usually in a good mood after giving the girls his critiques and lists of things to work on the next day. She'd even waited until after he'd eaten the Snickers bar he'd had sticking out of the pocket of his jacket. But he'd taken one look at her list and crumpled it in his hand.

"I'm not trying to be cruel, Payson, but until that nice little team jacket you're wearing says Coach Keeler, you'll do your routines as they were taught to you. Okay?"

"Okay, fine," she'd huffed, trailing after him as he made his way towards the front doors, where Becca and their mother were waiting for her. "But you've got to admit I need a major vault upgrade." His silence was damning, and Payson could practically see Worlds and Olympic gold flying away from her.

Figuring she'd go for broke, Payson asked, "How about an Amanar?" She scrambled over a stack of mats to catch back up to him. Damn, Sasha could move fast when he wanted to.

"No," was the succinct response. "You're too tall." He waved his ever present notebook over his head. "But it's a good thought for Kaylie- she's ideally sized for it and with her focusing on just the two events, she'll have plenty of time to train up."

_The hell with Kaylie_, Payson fumed to herself. "What about me?" was what came out of her mouth in a tone so wheedling it even grated on her own nerves.

Nodding goodnight to Becca and Kim, he banged through the front doors with his shoulder and headed for his trailer. "You'll continue doing the Yurchenko, of course."

"Sasha!" she cried in frustration, pulling up short at the edge of the sidewalk.

"Goodnight, Payson," he called, yanking open his front door and hopping inside without so much as a backward look.

* * *

><p>"Kelly Parker?" the three screeched as one.<p>

"Kelly Parker," Sasha confirmed calmly. "With Emily gone, it makes perfect sense to bring her in to fill the empty rotation. We have the slot, and she has the talent."

The girls shared a wide-eyed look. "Yeah, but she's a hell-spawned bitch," Kaylie said bluntly.

Sasha slanted a dark frown at her. "She is your national teammate. You should be eager to have her here full-time." Shifting to include the other girls, he challenged, "Or are you not interested in achieving team gold?"

"Of course we are," Lauren snorted with a scowl. "But look at it this way, Sasha- we can't kill her when she's in Denver. Here, sooner or later one of us will snap and run her over with her own gaudy-ass tour bus. We're really just looking out for the team by keeping KP out of the Rock."

Sasha took a steadying breath. "This is not open for discussion, ladies. I've issued the invitation to her mother, and she's accepted. Kelly begins training with you tomorrow morning." He added warningly, "And if I catch any of you acting like catty brats, you'll be doing extra conditioning until I'm tired just watching you." Sasha pointed at the front doors. "Now go home and get a good night's rest. I want you all here bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at seven to welcome Miss Parker."

"Yes, Sasha," they chorused with matching dejected faces.

* * *

><p>Kaylie, Lauren and Payson were clustered on the sidewalk in front of the gym bemoaning the arrival of their new teammate when a giant tour bus with Kelly Parker's face plastered on the side rumbled into the parking lot and blasted its horn. The hydraulic door whooshed open and Kelly bounced out whistling a Disney song. "Morning, teammies," she chirped.<p>

"Speak of the devil," Kaylie grumbled.

"It's going to be a great day, don't you think?" Kelly cooed, the obnoxious little hair pompoms on her head bobbling.

Kelly's mother climbed out of the bus' driver seat and began to pull what looked suspiciously like a national title banner from the luggage compartment. "Nice trailer, KP," Lauren sneered back, bolstered by Kaylie's snotty titter behind her. "Mommy gearing up to wallpaper the Rock with your out-of-date accolades?"

"This," Kelly retorted, sweeping a hand behind her, "is a deluxe touring vehicle."

"Looks like a trailer to me." Lauren looked back at Payson for support before clearly deciding the stronger ally lay in Kaylie. "And you know what they say about girls that live in trailers, right, Kay?"

Kelly cocked her head like she was considering it. "Well now I think you've got it backwards, _Lo_. I mean, with you tossing Carter to grind on the cute new guy in your skivvies and Kaylie making out with her buddy's babby daddy…" Her smile sharpened evilly. "Oh, and we can't forget our little Payson banging the National team coach, can we?" She shrugged casually. "Well, I guess we all know who the whores are here." She began to whistle again, finally breaking out in a chorus of _'Hi hos, hi hos, who they fuck next who knows…'_

"You little-" Lauren lunged forward only to be brought up short by the grip Payson had on the back of her jacket.

"Let it go," Payson grumbled, determined to rise above Kelly's digs. Giving her a reaction only made her worse.

Summer stuck her head out the door. "Girls, Sasha's waiting for you."

The four of them faced off for a long moment before Kaylie picked up her bag and scowled at Kelly. "Look, we all still think you're the biggest bitch on the face of the planet, but we're going to have to work together. Can we just, I don't know, stop with the Evil Queen bit during gym hours? Sasha's already given us the be nice spiel, and he'll filet us all if you blow it." She met each pair of eyes. "Deal?"

Payson looked at Kelly who looked back at Kaylie who pointedly elbowed Lauren. "Oh fine," she sighed bitterly. "But only if she shuts up, too."

When they trooped into the gym like a good little team, there was a sanded, cut-off 4x4 planted into a homemade base, looking like a giant cat scratching post.

"What… is that?" Kelly Parker asked with barely veiled skepticism after Sasha had given her a brief 'Welcome to the Rock, you're now under my slave driving thumb full time' speech.

"Payson!" Sasha barked. He stepped back and showed a second Frankenstein cat post. "You and Kelly will be working on these this morning in lieu of conditioning. I've added a triple turn to each of your beam routines. Practice until you can turn on a penny. Kelly, your turn will be at speed, because you'll be transitioning into your aerial sequence. The triple will replace your current double. Payson, I'd like your turn to ultimately be in piqué position, and as slow as possible at the end. I want that final rotation to stop perfectly on the beam without your raised foot touching down. Controlled and precise is what each of you needs." He gave them both a challenging look. "And ladies? I want them ready for Worlds."

Turning to Kaylie, he looked at her hard for a moment before breaking into a proud smile. "You're really coming back up to speed nicely. Today, I want you to work on the tramp and in the pit with Frank- he's already set aside the morning for you."

One elegant dark brow rose in intrigue. "On what?" Kaylie asked slowly.

The smile grew fatter. "Your new vault. Congratulations, Kaylie. I'm provisionally giving you a shot at an Amanar. You've earned it."

All four girls gasped; Lauren, Kelly and Kaylie in shock, Payson in outrage. That was the vault _she'd_ campaigned for!

He clapped his hands sharply. "Let's get to it girls. We don't have all day!"

"What about me?" Lauren asked, mistrust starting to peek through her expression. Was Sasha back to ignoring her already?

He gave her a look that said he knew exactly what she was thinking. "You, Lauren, are on the high beam with me until your standing tuck is a standing Arabian. I've already set up the harness."

Lauren felt her heart kick. A standing Arabian? Event finals gold was _hers_. She paused on her way to the beam to sing-song at her new teammate, who was diligently beginning her turn drills, "KP is a pole dancer!"

Just because they were now teammates didn't mean Kelly had any intention of letting Lauren think she could railroad her like some green Level 8. She smiled brilliantly as she stepped back up onto her post. "You know, Lauren, I guess I am. Maybe I should ask Max to come over and watch my performance. We all know how much he likes girls dancing for him." The expression on the other girl's face was well worth the effort.

* * *

><p>It seemed that he spent every waking moment with his notebook and Code of Points in hand- eating, watching over practice, in front of the television at night, all the damn time. Though he'd given Payson the impression that he had no interest in her proposed upgrades, Sasha had pulled the crumpled ball of paper from his pocket and considered her suggestions. Some weren't bad; some would happen when hell froze over. And he damned sure wasn't upgrading Payson when she kept making small mistakes. He knew she was frustrated by the continuing improvements he made for Lauren, Kaylie and Kelly, but the facts were that they needed it more. Payson's routines had polish from all the time they'd spent training one on one, and he owed the other girls their due as well.<p>

So he just kept scribbling away in his notebook as inspiration struck him. There were so many options, so many small changes he could make to the girls' routines to bump them up just that little bit more they needed going into the run to Worlds and the Olympics. But the more the other three improved, the bigger Payson's snit got.

Blame it on being a perfectionist, or a Belov, or a product of the Romanian gymnastics machine, but he refused to reward her and upgrade a routine that wasn't stone cold perfect one hundred percent of the time.

"For the last time, Payson, take that Shaposh out!" Sasha snapped, stalking away from where he was watching Kaylie throw a decent-looking Amanar in the pit to glare at Payson.

"I need the points," she shot back, pushing her hair out of her face impatiently. "You take that out and I'm screwed in Rio."

"You'll do as your coach tells you," Sasha growled, ducking in close so the gaggle of avidly eavesdropping Level Nines couldn't hear him, "or there won't _be_ a Rio, Payson. And I say it comes out until everything else in your routine is so goddamn perfect you could do it in your sleep."

Unwrapping and retightening her guards for something to do other than look at the permanently scowling face in front of her, Payson nodded. "Fine. But I get it back in time for Rio, right?"

"If you prove that you're up to the task." Sasha folded his arms. "And frankly, Payson, you haven't shown me that lately. Your straddled Jaeger is so half-assed it's pathetic and your handstands are not holding at vertical long enough for my taste. I want every last detail of that routine textbook perfect- grip, line, elbows, toe point, everything."

"Fine," she snapped back. "Just let me train!"

Despite himself, Sasha felt his lips quirk. "Is that a marginally polite way of telling me to get the hell out of your face, Payson?"

"Yes." Sucking in a deep breath, she noticed the girls waiting a few feet away and glared pointedly at them until they scattered. "Look, just leave me alone for an hour. Let me skip the floor rotation and stay here, and then come watch me. If I'm still screwing up, then you can ream me a new one." Her chin came up. "And if I'm not…"

"Consistency," he responded firmly. "If you're perfect today and tomorrow and the rest of the week, I'll consider reincorporating the Shaposh."

She nodded. "Fine. And when I have that cold, I want to talk to you about a Khorkina."

"Payson." Sasha waved his notebook under her nose. "I keep telling you: I am the coach. I have a whole bloody section dedicated to your routines and possible upgrades. Leave the planning to me, all right?" When she opened her mouth to object, he rapped her gently on the forehead with the notebook. "I've already marked it as a possibility, Payson. Adding the ½ to the Shaposhnikova won't be a big stretch for you, and the upgrade to an E element is a decent place to get a point bump. But _leave the coaching to me_. You just focus on consistency." He raised his eyebrows. "All right?"

Lips pursed at being so thoroughly defeated, Payson jerked a short nod. "Okay. Now go away, Sasha."

Heading back to the vaulting area, Sasha grinned briefly to himself. Now if he could only transplant some of Payson's determination to Lauren, and Lauren's flamboyance to Payson and some stamina from each of them to Kaylie, his gymnasts would really be on their way.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. "Lauren," he snapped, "drinking a cup of water requires actually putting it near your mouth. Save the gossip sessions for after practice and get back to the floor. _Now!_"

Christ- and to think he had missed this.

* * *

><p><strong>AN2:** A willing suspension of belief should start being asked for on your part soon, as we're hitting the point I start really playing fast and loose with the show. Some things from the second half of the season will make it in, others won't, and a few unlucky facts will be bastardized beyond all recognition.

I'd apologize for that, but to my mind it's less loathsome than the writing (which was soapy and inconsistent to begin with) after Hungary Heart. If those plots were able to stand and function like humans, they'd be lining up ten hungry great white sharks and ski jumping them bitches like Fonzi in Happy Days. And behold- the origins of the term 'jumping the shark.'


End file.
